


DMC Week 2020 Collective

by Productive_Writings



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Blood, Canonical Character Death, DMC Week 2020, Demon, Depression, Eva and Sparda might be OOC, F/M, Family, Fluff, Food, Gen, Loss, Mentor Credo, Minor Character Death, Nero drops the 'F' bomb, Sparring, Suicidal Thoughts, V lives/Vergil doesn't come back, We will never know because Capcom are cowards, grieving process, happiness, naming unnamed characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Productive_Writings/pseuds/Productive_Writings
Summary: A collection of oneshots and ficlets revolving around the #DMCWEEK prompts for October 4th-10thDay 1:BloodDay 2:DemonDay 3:LossDay 4:FoodDay 5:HappinessDay 6:FamilyDay 7:AU
Relationships: Credo & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Eva/Sparda (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Day 1: Bone | Blood | Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **BLOOD**
> 
> _1st May, 1:46pm_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _An exploration of the DMC5 timeline_

Kyrie was mopping. 

Yesterday evening, the children had been ushered round to a neighbour’s house to spend the night as Kyrie and Nico accompanied Nero to the hospital. This morning, Kyrie had begrudgingly left Nico alone at his side to make sure that the children were dressed nicely for the morning Service of Worship; there, she tried her best to keep up appearances and listen to the preacher’s sermon without letting her mind drift back to the hospital, though she directed her prayers to Nero’s swift recovery. She imagined the boys’ probably did, too.

He had been unconscious when she left the hospital. Stable, but unconscious. Hopefully he would be awake by afternoon visiting hours.

After attending the service, to bide the time away, Kyrie had decided to make herself useful in the best way she knew. She had prepared a bag of items for Nero – a fresh change of clothes, bathroom essentials, a little care package of fruit and biscuits and the like – all amidst Julio and Kyle bombarding her with questions on what the doctors’ had said, and how Nero was doing now, though she had quietened them with the promise that they would all go with her to see Nero at the end of the day.

Once lunch was eaten, Kyrie had sent the two older boys off to the afternoon youth club that her friends from the orphanage ran on weekends, met with only a mild resistance that was quickly assuaged with the gentle encouragement that it would help to pass the time more quickly until they could go to visit the hospital. Carlo, meanwhile, was gracious enough to go down for his afternoon nap without making too much of a fuss; he was, after all, too young to fully understand the gravity of the current situation beyond that fact that Nero wasn’t home to play with him.

That left Kyrie with some much needed quiet time to herself. And now she was spending that time by mopping up the mess in the garage. 

There was a large blood stain on the floor. Too large; he had lost far too much blood. The pool had dried overnight, seeping into the concrete floor of the garage, but the coppery tang of it still hung heavy and stale in the air, slowly being replaced with the only slightly more pleasant smell of bleach. 

Kyrie knew that Nero had a tendency to bounce back from injuries but this one was far more extreme. Aside from the obvious fact of her boyfriend’s missing lower limb, the blue scales she had become so accustomed to had also become absent from his upper arm and shoulder, like the demon in him had left Nero entirely. And Nero had _never_ fallen unconscious before. 

For the first time since they were both children, he was as human and as fragile as she was. 

The smell lessened, but the stain remained. Kyrie set the mop aside in favour of scrubbing at the offending mark on her hands and knees; still it stayed put, already set too deep into the porous flooring. There would always be a stain there. 

Kyrie leaned heavily on the hard bristled brush as she furiously continued her futile efforts, allowing the tears to roll freely down her face, splashing onto the floor and mixing with the blood and bleach. She would let it all out now, where no one could see; where she didn’t have to be strong for the boys, or hopeful and resolved in front of her friends.

All of her doubts and all of her fears poured out, and were scrubbed away to join the hideous browning mark that marred the garage. 

The monitor for Carlo’s room started to sound, letting Kyrie know that the boy was stirring. Finally standing again after what seemed like hours, she removed her yellow household gloves and wiped all evidence of the tears from her face. It was time to make herself presentable, to retrieve the boys and return to her love, who would no doubt be awake now and waiting to see her. 

And tomorrow, she would go out and get a tarp to cover up the garage floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I totally didn't rewrite part of this chapter._
> 
> _I totally didn't, after posting it, look at my phone's calendar and realise that if DMC5 happens in 2016 then May 1st is a Sunday. I totally hadn't originally posted the oneshot with the assumption that May 1st was a week day and the children were all at school._
> 
>   
> _Nope. Never happened._


	2. Day 2: Monster | Cryptid | Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **DEMON**
> 
> _“Eva  
>  Dante's mom—the woman the Dark Knight Sparda fell for, in other words.  
> Must've been a heck of a gal to snag the legendary dark knight himself.  
> I guess her feminine instincts were so strong even giving a demon a hug was no problem for her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Pre-DMC, Eva and Sparda share a moment_

“Eva?” Spencer asked, gaining his partner’s attention. 

The blonde woman looked up, acknowledging him. “What is it darling?” 

“There’s something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I've never really known how to say it...” he told her, honestly still quite apprehensive about. 

Eva was intrigued. “Well, you’ve at least made it this far.” she coerced. 

“I suppose I have.” Spencer agreed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Eva, I'm not the man you think I am.” 

She gave him a quizzical look from across the table. Eva and Spencer had been a couple for over a year now, and he had never given her any reason to doubt him or his character. He was... an eccentric sort, there was no doubt about it, but all wealthy families had their quirks; Spencer Redgrave, descendant of the town’s founder and heir to the Redgrave Mansion was no exception. 

“I’ve been lying to you ever since the day we met,” Spencer continued, “but I know we can’t continue like this. I know that I need to tell you the truth about myself for what we have to continue... but I know that if I do tell you my secret, I could lose you all the same.” 

Eva was beginning to grow concerned. What kind of secret was Spencer keeping from her? He hadn’t amassed his fortune by running with the Krays, had he?

The man in question scooted his chair closer to the worried woman. “Eva... Do you remember the play we went to see? ‘The Rise and Fall of Spencer’?” 

“I do; you said it was about your great, great grandfather – but what does that have to do with--" 

“Please, Eva," Spencer cut back in, “Let me finish. I lied to you about my family; I wasn’t named after some famed distant ancestor. There is no deep, rich Redgrave family history. It’s just me – I am the Spencer Redgrave from the play.” 

“O... kay?” Eva gave him a skeptical look. “So you’re telling me you’re, what, immortal? Or a time traveller, perhaps? I'm sorry, dear, but I think you’ve been watching too much Doctor Who.” She teased. 

“Perhaps I have,” Spencer confessed, “But that isn’t what I'm talking about. Maybe I should put it this way – the devil statue in the courtyard? It’s a statue of me.” He looked Eva deep in her turquoise eyes. “I am not Spencer, the man. I am Sparda, the demon.” 

Eva burst out laughing. 

“That’s... not exactly the reaction I was expecting.” Spencer, or rather Sparda, remarked. 

“I'm sorry,” Eva chuckled, “You really had me going there for a minute. I don’t know what kind of ‘secret' I was expecting to hear from you, but a demon? Really? You really can be ridiculous some times, Spencer.” 

“I'm not joking, Eva.” Sparda protested. 

Eva looked her partner in the eyes, looking for some sign that he really had just been fooling around with her, but she found none. In fact, he almost looked hurt. It was enough to quieten her laughter immediately. “You really aren’t, are you?” 

Sparda said nothing. 

Eva leaned forward and placed her hand over his. “You said the statue was made to look like you... can you show me?” 

Sparda made a show of crossing his arms and looking away from her. “I could, but since you just laughed at me, I don’t think I want to.” 

“Spenc-- Sparda.” Eva coaxed. He didn’t turn back towards her, but he did cast her a sideways glance at the sound of his name. “This obviously meant something to you. Please, let me see?” 

Sparda unfolded his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but you have to promise you won’t laugh this time.” 

Eva made a gesture of crossing her heart for him. “Promise.” 

With his partner’s assurance, Sparda rose from his seat and stood before her. 

Eva watched as he let his human façade fall and assumed his true form- ram-horned and cloven hooved, his beetle-like wings iridescent in the light of the lounge. He was as magnificent as he was terrifying. 

“Do you think,” the demon spoke in a distorted, growling voice, “that you can still love me, knowing who I truly am?” 

Eva stood from her own chair. In this form, the top of her head barely reached his chest, but she leaned in to embrace him anyway, the side of her face pressed flush against his armour plated scales. “I can.” She replied with an air of certainty. 

Sparda stepped back, breaking away from her to take her hands in his claws and kneeled in front of her, bringing his head down only slightly below her eye line. “Enough that you would marry me?” he asked. 

“Sparda...” Eva replied breathlessly. So much was happening all at once, what should she say? 

For Sparda, it felt like an eternity before she spoke again; and considering that he had been alive for near enough 3000 years now, that was saying something. 

“How shameful,” she mocked gently when she finally did speak; “proposing to me without a ring.” 

Sparda made a strange sound in the back of his throat that Eva could only assume was a chuckle. “I suppose I am under prepared, but there is something else I can offer you.” Rising to his full height, Sparda clasped his hands together and closed his eyes tightly. When his talons unfurled, what looked like a large, red jewel lay in his palms. “This is a fragment of my soul; it would mean the world to me if you would wear it.” 

A bright smile blossomed on Eva's face. “It would be an honour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I have no idea how a prompt to celebrate the baddies of the series turned into almost 1k words of Eva and Sparda fluff, but it did._
> 
> _Ever noticed that, although Sparda and Eva are generally considered in the fandom to be married, Eva doesn't wear a wedding ring?_


	3. Day 3: Fight | Reunion | Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **LOSS**
> 
> Learning to Live with it – Part 1 of 3  
>  _In which Nero receives some bad news._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For the purpose of this story, Kyrie and Credo's parents have been given names, following the DMC4 pattern of using Latin: "Clement" for their father, meaning 'compassionate', 'merciful' or 'gentle', and "Dielle" for their mother, meaning 'worships God'._
> 
> _The family name "Eleison" comes from the full title of the song after which Kyrie is named._

Something was wrong when Nero got home from school. 

He knew this, because Credo was sitting with Kyrie in the front room waiting for him. 

Kyrie he had expected to be home, since her entire class was on study leave in preparation for their final exams; Credo, though... he shouldn’t be here. He'd moved out of the family home shortly after graduating from school and enlisting as a Squire to the Holy Knights, and since becoming a Knight himself it had been rare to see him away from his patrols except for family meals on religious festivals. 

And Kyrie was crying. 

“Nero,” Credo said, “take a seat.” 

Nero slung the bag from his shoulder and left it by the door. “Why?” he questioned, “Where’s Clement? And Dielle?” 

“Just...” Credo sighed, “just sit down, Nero.” 

Nero seated himself across from the other two, casting a glance over at Kyrie, who was still blotting tears from her face; he already knew exactly what had happened. 

“What--" Nero coughed, clearing his throat that suddenly felt too dry to speak. “What kind of demon was it?” he asked, getting straight to the point. 

Credo didn’t answer him straight away, but instead turned to his sister. “Kyrie, you can go; you needn’t hear about this a second time.” He told her. She nodded silently, rose from her seat and left the room, tissue still pressed to her cheek. 

Once Kyrie had left, Credo gave Nero his full attention. “The creature hasn’t been properly identified, but we will track it down, and it will meet justice.” 

Nero gave a curt nod of understanding. “Was anyone else... involved?” he asked, but they both knew what he meant: was anybody else _‘killed'_. 

“There’s nothing confirmed, yet,” Credo stated, “but the first Knight sent to respond to the demon is also missing.” 

“Dominic is an idiot,” Nero seethed, “sending one Knight to fight something when he doesn’t even know what it is.” 

“The Supreme General Dominic,” Credo corrected, “did what he deemed necessary, which is all any of us could have done.” 

“Except some people do it better than others.” Nero contested, folding his arms and muttering “jackass" under his breath. 

The older of the two scowled, but said nothing in reply. He had his own misgivings about the situation, but that was a private matter that neither Nero nor his sister need know about. 

“I'll be moving back into this house, so that I can take care of the necessary arrangements;” he told the white haired teen, “and I'll be acting as yours and Kyrie’s legal guardian from now on.” 

Nero’s throat felt too tight to verbally respond, so he just nodded. At least they weren’t going to be split apart any more than they already had been, he thought. He doubted there was another family on their hellish little island that would be willing to take him in, and there was no way he was going back to live at the orphanage until his 18th birthday. 

Tears burned in the corners of Nero’s eyes. Clement and Dielle Eleison... he missed them already. 

His whole life, Nero had only ever known four people who actually cared about him... 

And that number had just halved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kyrie and Nero's school in this story follows the pre-2010 European schooling system, where school is compulsory to the age of 16, after which students either enter Higher Education or leave school to find a job or apprenticeship._
> 
> _Nero is 15 at the time of the fic and Kyrie is in her final year at age 16._


	4. Day 4: Food | Style | Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FOOD**
> 
> Learning to Live with it – Part 2 of 3  
>  _In which Nero and Credo get into an argument at dinner._

There were two people missing at dinner. 

They had been for almost a week now, and that’s just how it was going to be from now on. For Nero, that fact didn’t make it any easier to look at the two empty seats at the dining table. Especially not today. 

Today had been the funeral of Clement and Dielle Eleison. 

Kyrie had prepared a meal for the three of them to eat together, as she had been since Credo moved back in on the day of their parent's passing. She was still wearing her black mourning dress, and Credo his suit. Nero had gotten out of his stuffy funeral attire the second they had made it back to the house; he just wanted to put everything behind him and forget about it, impossible as it was. Everything was different now. 

Dinner was Dielle's caponata recipe, accompanying a light rice dish, and the smell of It was as bitter sweet as the memories it brought to the table. 

Nero wasn’t hungry. 

He hadn’t felt like eating all day; not at breakfast that morning, nor at lunch during the post-funeral reception, and certainly not now, either, with the sight of those two empty chairs tying his stomach up in knots. 

“Your math teacher happened to be at the funeral, Nero,” Credo brought up as he loaded the stewed vegetables onto a slice of bruschetta. “We ended up talking, just before everyone left – he doesn’t believe he’s seen you for the past few days. How many lessons have you been skipping, exactly?” he demanded. 

“Do we have to do this today?” Nero asked, exasperated, pushing the food aimlessly around the plate with his fork. 

“Yes, we do, or would you rather I turn a blind eye and let you play truant for another week first?” 

Nero would have preferred it. He had tried to go back to school, he really had, but it had barely been half way through the next day when things had proved too much for him, and he hadn’t attended classes since. Nero was used to getting odd looks from people; what more could he expect? The orphan of unknown parentage with the snowy white hair stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of Fortuna’s residents, and they all loved to remind him of how different he was from everyone else. But now things were different. Now he had been orphaned for a second time, and everyone on the island had known the Eleisons. Now everyone pitied him, and that was something he couldn’t stand; their fake smiles were far worse than their genuine contempt. 

“I thought you wanted to become a swordsmithing mechanic.” Credo continued to berate him from across the table. “How do you expect to make the grades to secure an apprenticeship if you can’t even be bothered to attend your classes?” 

“What does it matter if I miss out on a few days?” Nero complained, “If my grades do drop, I've got a whole other year to pick them back up. Just cut me some slack, would you?” 

“If you continue to deliberately miss lessons,” Credo snapped back, “then my ability to look after you as your legal guardian will be called into question; you and Kyrie will be sent to live with foster families until you’re 18 and deemed mature enough to live on your own. 

“And how do you think that will reflect on me? I'm aiming for the position of Supreme General when Dominic retires - how can I be expected to command the Holy Knights of the Order if I can’t keep one unruly teenager in line?” 

“So, this is about your promotion.” Nero huffed, stabbing his fork into a thick chunk of aubergine. “I should have known.” 

“Think what you will, Nero, but at least I’m actually working to achieve something with my life.” The Knight chided. 

“Can we all just have dinner? Please?” Kyrie chimed in; she had stayed quiet for as long as she could, in the fruitless hopes that the two men of the house could resolve things themselves, but the day had been draining enough already. 

Nero was silently thankful for her intervention. 

“Fine,” Credo conceded. “Nero, we will finish this discussion later.” 

_Much_ later, Nero hoped. He idly picked at his food as the other two continued to eat their own meals in silence. He knew he should eat, too, but the mere idea of it left a taste in his mouth more sour than the caponata’s vinegar seasoning. 

“Can you pass me the salt, Credo?” Nero asked tiredly. 

“You're missing a word there, aren't you Nero?” Credo corrected him with a supercilious look. 

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and something in Nero snapped. “Yeah, you’re right, I did. Can you pass me the _fucking_ salt?” 

Kyrie's fork clattered against her plate as she dropped it in shock. Nero kept his eyes firmly on Credo, who set down his own knife and fork, holding the silver-haired teen's gaze. 

“Nero, you can finish dinner in your room.” Credo said with a cool, calculated calmness. It was unnerving enough to make a shiver run down the boy's spine; honestly, Nero thought he would have preferred it if Credo had yelled at him. 

As directed, Nero snatched up his plate, and made a point of rounding the table to also take the salt shaker before disappearing upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _From the previous part:_
> 
> _For the purpose of this story, Kyrie and Credo's parents have been given names, following the DMC4 pattern of using Latin: "Clement" for their father, meaning 'compassionate', 'merciful' or 'gentle', and "Dielle" for their mother, meaning 'worships God'._
> 
> _The family name "Eleison" comes from the full title of the song after which Kyrie is named._
> 
> _Kyrie and Nero's school in this story follows the pre-2010 European schooling system, where school is compulsory to the age of 16, after which students either enter Higher Education or leave school to find a job or apprenticeship._
> 
> _Nero is 15 at the time of the fic and Kyrie is in her final year at age 16._


	5. Day 5: Hurt | Heal | Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **HAPPINESS**
> 
> _A sad little story about being happy._  
>  Alternatively: Lucia helps Dante to fight The Despair for a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _DMC Week - Featuring DMC2 from the Devil May Cry series_
> 
> **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ STORY TAGS**

Dante didn’t think he’d been truly happy for a very long time. 

Probably not since the day his mother died. 

After that, he had grown to know the ugly truths of the world – fear, guilt, rejection, loneliness... he knew all of them too well. 

Dante was great at putting on a carefree act for other people, as if nothing in the world had to be taken seriously and none of it could phase him; but acting was hard work. 

He still had days where he would go out of his way to avoid talking to anyone, just so he wouldn’t have to put on that facade. Days like those, he would spend shut up in his office, with no company but a bottle of whiskey, his mother’s portrait, his father’s sword, and the glove with the hole in it that he had refused to throw away for over a decade; like some sad attempt at a family reunion. 

It was a miserable existence, really, but he supposed it must beat the alternative – not that Dante could exactly kill himself, anyway. Sometimes he wondered, though, if he took the toughest jobs for the fun of the challenge... or if he just wanted to know if there was anything out there that could actually put an end to him. To make his death easier, too, for the people he knew that would be left behind. 

He had reached a real low point after Mundus' defeat. What should have been a cathartic experience, finally taking revenge on the demon that had killed his mother, was overshadowed by the pain of his own brother’s demise. It had been easier before he had taken the job on Mallet Island, when he could just imagine that his brother was still out there, somewhere, alive and well and still searching for the power he thought would solve his own problems. 

The truth had left a gnawing that even the whisky wouldn’t touch. 

After that, putting on his mask of playfulness became a lot harder; made worse again when Trish and Lady’s visits to his office became more few and far between. He blamed himself for that, too; they had probably already seen the tears in his happy disguise. They must have been sick of dealing with him. 

But the time Dante was called to Dumary Island, he had stopped caring. There was no one on the island that he knew, no one he cared about, and by extension no one who should care about him either. It was easy to let the act drop. 

When fighting against Argosax trapped Dante in hell, he was content to let fate take the reins. It seemed only right that things should end for him here, where his brother had also wandered lost for so long. It didn’t matter much to him whether the way back opened up or not; here in hell, Dante was content to fight his way through its hoards until his body gave out from the exhaustion, then just lay down and let the ground swallow him whole. No guilt. No regrets... 

But the way did open. 

Clearly, fate hadn’t finished with him yet. 

Dante followed the path home, and there he found the red haired woman he had met on Dumary Island. Lucia, the demon created by Uroboros, and the very same one who had helped him to defeat them. 

In her, Dante saw that there were people who would miss him if he was truly gone forever, people that he had managed to help see the value in themselves, even if he could not do the same for himself. 

So the mask went back on. 

He greeted Lucia with all of the false cheer he could muster, and the happiness she showed him in return was genuine. It made the mask just a little easier to wear. 

They talked; and then the joked; and then they laughed, together. It was almost like being happy again. 

And some day, maybe he could be.


	6. Day 6: Home | Family | Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FAMILY**
> 
> Learning to Live with it – Part 3 of 3  
>  _In which Credo helps Nero in the only way a Sparda can ever really be helped._

There was a knock at the door, barely audible over the blaring rock music and far too gentle to be Credo, so Nero turned down the volume of the song to a dull murmur and answered. Kyrie stood in the doorway, looking anxious with her hands clasped together. 

“I just came to take your plate, if you’re finished with it.” She explained, not making eye contact with him. 

“Oh, right.” Nero left the doorway to grab his dinner plate, still barely touched. It gave Kyrie a good view into his room, and to the duffle bag he had been stuffing most of his possessions into. 

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked him as she took his unfinished food from him. 

“That depends on your brother.” Nero replied. 

“I doubt Credo would make you move out, Nero,” Kyrie reasoned. “My brother may be strict but he isn’t heartless.” 

“Maybe,” said Nero, “but if he doesn’t get off my back I'm gonna end up walking out anyway.” 

Kyrie sighed at Nero's rashness. “I know you’re upset, Nero; we all miss them,” She attempted to console him, “but they’re in a better place now, at the side of the Saviour.” 

“How can you still buy into all of this ‘Saviour' crap, Kyrie?” Nero challenged the girl. It was rare for him to swear around her, even less frequent that he directed the language towards her, but today he would make the exception. “Your parents were some of the most devout people on this island, and look what their god let happen to them. It's just... it’s not fair.” 

“I know.” Kyrie said in a soft, sorrowful voice. 

Nero felt so fucking stupid. What right did he have to tell Kyrie how much it sucked that the Eleisons were gone? They were her parents, not his; she already knew. 

“But...” she went on, sounding more resolute, “I also know that I want to see their hard work for the island continued – if not for Sparda, then for their memory. That’s why I want to go in to childcare, to carry on the work at the orphanage that they started. I think it would mean a lot to them.” 

Nero listened to her silently. It probably would mean a lot to them that Kyrie was so focussed on working with their community... but it would have meant a whole lot more if they were still around to see it. 

He was just about to open his mouth to apologise to her for ruining dinner when her brother interrupted, hurrying Kyrie back downstairs with Nero’s plate. 

“Come with me. We're going outside” Credo directed, leaving no room for argument. 

This was it. He was actually getting kicked out. Nero reached for his bags. 

“Leave them,” Credo commanded. “I'll deal with that later.’ 

Great, so he was being made to leave without any of his stuff, too. Talk about adding insult to injury; Credo must gave been even more angry than he thought. 

Nero was lead outside, where he was surprised to find the open cases of two Knight-issued swords; one the standard issue Caliburn, and the other Credo’s higher ranking officer’s Durandal. 

“Spar with me.” Credo said plainly. It didn’t sound much like a request. 

“For what? My right to stay and live in your house?” Nero snapped back. 

“If you want to make a bet like that, then it’s a good thing your bags are already packed.” the man retorted, tossing the Caliburn to the teen and readying his own sword. “Luckily for you, I'm not making any terms. You wanted a fight at dinner, now’s your chance.” 

“Alright then, you asked for it.” Nero sneered, giving the swords Accel function an experimental rev before lunging in for the fight. 

Any outsider would be able to see that Credo was going easy on the boy, allowing him every opportunity to attack and doing little more than deflecting his blows in return. Even if he had noticed it for himself, Nero didn’t care; he was lost in the motion of the swinging sword and the crash of metal against metal. 

Credo held his sword horizontally in front of him to deflect Nero’s barrage of strikes, as he let all of his emotions pour out into them, repeatedly meeting Credo’s blade with his own until his arm was sore. When he felt that Nero had done enough, the more experienced swordsman parried the Caliburn, knocking its final, tired hit to the side and sending Nero turning with it. The boy dug the tip of the sword into the ground, leaning heavily on the hilt and wiping the tears from his face that he hadn’t realised he’d been crying. 

Credo sheathed his weapon and allowed the boy in front of him some time to recover. “Feeling better?” he asked. 

“Yeah, actually.” Nero admitted. Even in the few lessons his school had provided (where students were only permitted to use safe wooden imitation weapons), he found handling a sword oddly therapeutic. “Why did you bother trying to help, though? After what happened at dinner, I was sure you were just going to kick me out.” 

“What kind of person would I be if I did?” Credo asked. “My parents took you in as part of our family, and I wouldn’t be doing any honour to their memory if I threw you out on the street in your time of need; I am as much your brother as I am Kyrie’s.” 

Nero stood silently, thinking about Credo’s words. Kyrie was right about him, and he supposed deep down he knew as well that Credo wouldn’t be so callous as to abandon him; it was just something he had grown too accustomed to from everyone else on the island. And being called Credo’s brother, too? It was enough to have the boy tearing up again. 

“We can spar again tomorrow, if you like... provided you actually go to all of your classes first, that is.” The Knight offered. It was sure to be a more constructive outlet for the boy than sneaking out of school to aimlessly wander town. 

“I'd like that.” Nero decided, handing the sword back to Credo to return to its case. 

“Your technique needs some work, but you did well, all things considered..” Credo commended as he dismantled one of the blades. “Maybe instead of settling for merely repairing swords, you should consider a career using one yourself. Have you ever thought about joining the Holy Knights?” 

“Yeah, right,” Nero scoffed, “like I would ever be accepted.” He already knew that none of the current Knights would ever consider him one of them; that was why he had already resigned himself to becoming a swordsmith – it was the closest to handling the Knight’s weapons as he was likely to get. 

Credo turned to him with an air of seriousness. “You'd have to be, if the Supreme General put forward a recommendation.” 

“And why would the--" Nero stopped. “Your promotion.” He all but gaped at the young man in front of him. “You'd really tell them to take me on as a Squire?” 

“If you were serious about wanting to work with the Order, I would.” Credo affirmed. “I think it would have made my parents proud to see you become a Knight.” 

Nero smiled for what was probably the first time since the news of Clement and Dielle’s passing. He could do that, he thought; he could become a Knight of the Order and help Credo to keep the island safe from demons, if not for the Order themselves, then for the memory of Kyrie and Credo’s parents. In return for everything the Eleison family had ever done for him, this would be his way of honouring them. All of them. 

Credo took his expression as a confirmation. “Come back inside, then,” He told Nero. “You have some bags that need unpacking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _From the previous part:_
> 
> _For the purpose of this story, Kyrie and Credo's parents have been given names, following the DMC4 pattern of using Latin: "Clement" for their father, meaning 'compassionate', 'merciful' or 'gentle', and "Dielle" for their mother, meaning 'worships God'._
> 
> _The family name "Eleison" comes from the full title of the song after which Kyrie is named._
> 
> _Kyrie and Nero's school in this story follows the pre-2010 European schooling system, where school is compulsory to the age of 16, after which students either enter Higher Education or leave school to find a job or apprenticeship._
> 
> _Nero is 15 at the time of the fic and Kyrie is in her final year at age 16_


	7. Day 7: AU | Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AU – "Secret Ending"**
> 
> _DMC5 AU where Trish wakes up a little earlier, Dante wakes up a little later, Nero uses a different kind of power to defeat Urizen, and V doesn’t get left in Redgrave by himself for a month._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I made a post a while back about[the issues that Devil May Cry 5’s ‘Secret Ending' present](https://super-productivity.tumblr.com/post/186695023375/but-did-they-and-for-how-long-people-have-been). This is an AU revolving around that alternative ending, but with a bit of a more optimistic look at things._

Nero swung Red Queen at the red crystal suspended before the demon, slowly but surely chipping away at its defences in between dodging the creature's projectile attacks. 

Trish began to stir awake. She looked across the curious Qliphoth chamber over to where Dante lay sprawled across the floor, before her eyes were drawn up to where she could still hear the sound of someone fighting the demon, ‘Urizen'. Was that Nero going up against him? Yes, she was sure it was; the battle was clearly taking its toll on him, and it wouldn’t be long before he, too, succumbed to the powerful Demon King. Unless... 

“Nero!” she called out, throwing the Devil Sword Sparda to the young man. He staggered out of the path of his opponent’s plasma ball, dropping the Red Queen to catch the sword being tossed to him. 

With the Sparda on hand, Nero felt a new surge of energy coarse through him. He lunged back at the crystal shield, meeting it with the demon blade's superior strength, finally causing it to shatter. The sword within splashed down into the shallow red stream beneath it. 

“How?” the demons voice boomed, “How can a mere human have such power?” 

“'Mere human', huh?” Nero scoffed, his eyes glowing red. “If that’s all you think of me, then boy have I got a surprise for you.” 

He adjusted his grip on the Devil Sword Sparda, holding it tightly in his grasp as it lent him its power. The spectral spirit that Nero had used so often before emerged form him, but it had taken a different shape - ram-horned and formed from purple light. With the power of Sparda at his aid, Nero hacked at the Qliphoth vines that bound the demon, before plunging the blade into the monster itself. 

The demon howled and cursed as its body split apart, bursting into particles of demonic energy that flowed into its discarded sword, causing the blade to glow a bright blue from beneath the murky red liquid. 

By this point, Trish had recovered enough to stand, and had made her way over to try and reawaken Lady (Dante would be fine, he'd been through worse). 

Nero reached into the shallow pool for the dimming weapon, and pulled out the sword he recognised as the Yamato, the very one that had been stolen from him along with his arm. It responded to his touch, absorbing itself into him as it had done so many times in the past. A bright glow encompassed his right arm as the sword disappeared, ebbing away to reveal a new lower arm; another demonic form, but different from the Bringer he had had before. This new arm looked almost to be a gauntlet, made up of iridescent black-green armour plating, though he wagered it wasn’t something he would be able to simply take off. 

Griffon's shrill laughter broke through the room as V entered with his familiar flying overhead. “I can’t believe you actually did it!” the bird squawked, “Well, I mean I believed in you, but V here had his doubts.” 

V raised his cane to silence the feathered demon, before directing the tip of it towards Nero's newly armoured arm. “This is new.” 

Nero flexed the fingers of his new right hand. “Yeah, happened right after I picked up the Yamato.” he informed the other man. 

“You retrieved the sword?” V inquired. “May I see it?” 

Nero produced the Yamato in his right hand. It glowed in a way that it never had before, like blue flames licking the length of the blade. 

“Fascinating,” V murmured under his breath, holding out a hand towards the sword, allowing the strange fire to lick his fingers. “When you defeated that demon, it recognised you as a worthy opponent and relinquished its soul to you. This sword,” he went on, “is no longer the Yamato, but the Devil Sword Vergil.” 

The sword’s name piqued the interest of the two women. “Did you say ‘Vergil'?” the newly-revived Lady asked. 

“You told us the demon's name was Urizen.” Trish added. “What’s going on, V?” 

“ _‘Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believed.’_ ” V quoted. “I told you enough that you would be convinced to help, but not so much that you would begin to question me on the facts...” He looked over to Dante, still unconscious from the fight. “I did tell Dante, though. It only seemed right to.” 

“Why was it so important for Dante to know the demon’s name?” Nero asked. 

“Because,” V explained, “The demon who took your arm to retrieve the Yamato was none other than the true owner of that sword.” 

“Dante’s brother...” Nero realised. 

The devil hunter began to stir. He lifted his head and looked around the chamber of the Qliphoth in confusion. “Nero? What are you doing here? Where’s--" 

“The demon has been taken care of, Dante" V told him. 

“Yeah, the kid took it out while you were taking your little nap over there.” Griffon chimed in. 

“Damn it.” Dante swore, rising to his feet, “It wasn’t your fight, Nero. I should have been the one to--" 

“Not my fight?” Nero cut him off angrily. “You think you’re the only one who should have gotten to kick his ass just because he was your brother? V told me everything.” Dante looked at him in stunned silence, so Nero continued. “Vergil made it my fight when the bastard ripped my right arm off; he deserved everything he got, whoever it was that gave it to him.” 

A look of sadness washed over the older man. “V told you everything, huh? Well, I bet he didn’t tell you Vergil was your family as well as mine.” He looked around at everyone else in the room, every gaze centred on him. Under normal circumstances, the attention wouldn’t have phased him, but this was a truth that had weighed heavily on Dante for the last 6 years since he had met the young man in front of him, and having to finally voice it in front of an audience made a lump form in his throat. “Vergil was your father.” 

There was a resounding question of “What?” from everyone listening – except for Griffon, who fell off of V's shoulder where he had been perched and began rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter. 

“Vergil? Really?” Lady asked, remembering Dante’s twin brother as she had once known him. 

Dante nodded his head. “Yeah, really.” He confirmed before turning his attention back to Nero. “I knew he had to be as soon as I met you in Fortuna, kid. That’s why I let you keep his sword; you seemed like the best person to have it.” 

Trish simply nodded in agreement of Dante’s words, having sensed the same familiar power in him, though still uncertain of the facts herself. 

“So you've known all this time, and you never thought to say anything?” Nero questioned, sounding more hurt than angry. 

“Would it have changed anything if I had?” Dante asked. 

“Well yeah – no, maybe... I don’t know!” Nero stammered, unsure of how to feel about the sudden revelation. “It just... it would have been nice to know.” 

“You couldn’t have reasoned with him, either of you – that creature had no humanity left in it.” V interjected. “Defeating him was the only option.” 

“So, tell us V – what makes you such the expert?” Dante challenged. 

V looked around the crowd with uncertainty. “Let me tell you a story;” he began, leaning with both hands on his cane. “It is the story of a man, and his endless quest for power. 

“This man had a brother, and his brother had surpassed him in every way. It was this man’s desire to prove himself worthy as his brother’s equal, but to do that, he needed to cast off everything that made him weak. 

“From his demonic self, he split apart everything that made him human, and all of the thought that made him afraid. It made him stronger, yes, but it also clouded his vision. By loosening his binds to humanity, the man lost sight of the very reason he had gone in search of power. 

“Meanwhile, his discarded humanity lingered. This part of him could see the wrong in what the man had done, and resolved to put an end to his madness.” 

The penny, for Dante, had finally dropped. “ You’re saying you are...” 

“... Yes,” V confessed, not waiting for the question to be finished. “I am that piece of Vergil that he cast aside.” 

Dante nodded his head towards Griffon. “And what does that make you?” 

“Us?” Griffon replied, “We’re Vergil’s bad dreams, his darkest memories from Mallet Island.” 

“It was necessary to form a pact with these creatures for our mutual continuance.” V continued. A miniature image of the demon Shadow appeared in his outstretched palm, disappearing again when he closed his fist. “As nothing but memories, they required a host in order to endure, and I their strength. Even so, this new existence of mine... is to be short-lived.” He admitted with an air of sadness, “I needed to make right my wrongs while there was still time; _‘If any could desire what he is incapable of possessing, despair must be his eternal lot’_ , but... with however long I have left, I would like to spend it amongst family,” V directed his attention towards Nero, “if you would have me?” 

V's answer was interrupted by a rumbling that shook the entire chamber. 

“We've wasted too much time!” Trish warned the others. “The Qliphoth has already taken root in the human world, and it'll continue to grow unless we do something about it. You boys, wrap up your little family reunion – quickly – Lady and I will go ahead and make sure the civilians stay safe.” 

“Right.” Lady agreed, slinging the Kalina Ann over her shoulder and following Trish out into Redgrave City. 

V began to make his own way out of the chamber. “It seems I still have some work to do,” he announced. “It’s my fault the Qliphoth has risen; now it is time for me to ‘tell’ this poison tree.” 

“Wait,” Nero called after him. “I'll go with you.” 

V attempted to protest, but Nero wouldn’t allow any room for argument. “It’s the Yamato that opened the way between worlds for this thing, you'll need the sword to close it again – and I'm not gonna let you just take my arm a second time.” 

Dante joined them “I’ll go too. Who knows what kind of nasties have already crawled out of hell?” 

“No.” V protested. “I won’t drag you along to solve my problems any more than I already have. You should help those women to protect the city – Nero and I can handle things in here.” 

“Fine, but if I've gotta come down there and save your asses later, the job's gonna cost double.” he jested. 

V smiled at Dante, thankful for his understanding; but then, his brother had always had that way about him, hadn’t he? 

“Come on then,” Nero said, nudging V towards the chamber’s exit. “You can tell me more about this crazy family on the way.” 

“It would be a pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _•Nero's new arm is based on the design of Nelo Angelo._
> 
> _•V's quotes come from William Blake's 'Proverbs of Hell' and 'There is no Natural Religion' respectively._
> 
> _•Please feel free to assume that Dante was going to say- "I should have been the one to fill his dark soul with LIIIIIIIGGGGHHHHTTT!!"_


End file.
